The response was so peculiar that David stared to see if something was wrong. She waved again, the very picture of the doting wife, though perhaps a bit less than properly dressed. Could last night’s confrontation have changed her so much?
He shook his head, marveling at what had just happened. “Until later.”
She waved yet again, her smile dimpling her plump cheeks.
He tentatively waved back, uncertain what had caused the change. Then he turned to head to the work site.
Standing not ten feet from the guardhouse was either a ghost or the very person who dominated his dreams and regrets. She carried a bag and wore mourning, which meant her mother had passed, but it was not her clothing that drew his attention. Her gentle hazel eyes had widened. Her countenance had blanched, and her free hand went to her abdomen in a reaction so familiar that it ached. She looked from David to Aileen and back again.
“Prosperity.” He could barely get her name past his lips.
She shook her head.
He stepped toward her.
She backed away.
“Is it you?” It looked like her.
Her expression crumpled, her mouth worked, but nothing came out. Then she threw out her hand and ran.
He followed, calling her name, but she did not stop. A sob burst from her and struck him harder than a blow to the jaw.
“David, love,” Aileen called out.
He let Prosperity go.
5
The unfamiliar streets turned into a maze, and Prosperity was soon lost. She stumbled this way and that, vision too blurred by tears to note a familiar landmark or read a street sign.
David was married.
The rumor was true. Moreover, he’d either been married longer than the O’Malleys indicated or he’d been living a sinful life with this woman, for she was heavy with child. David’s child!
Prosperity clutched her free hand to her abdomen and struggled to draw breath.
She was supposed to give him children. She wanted to present him with a son. They would raise him together, instruct him in godly ways. Day after day, year after year, she had clung to his promise as to a lifeline. She had waited. She had kept her vow, but he had tossed his promise into the sea.
Oh, David. What have you done?
Though empty, her stomach still managed to churn.
“I waited,” she muttered, drawing the attention of a gentleman passing by.
What did she care if strangers gawked? What was left of her? Mother, father, fiancé—all gone. All hope for the future gone. Tears burned against eyelids already swollen.
What had happened to the David she knew? This David looked older and more tired. The fine dashing figure of memory had been replaced by one burdened by heavy cares. Sin could crush a man. For but one instant had she seen the man she remembered. The moment he recognized her, the weight dropped away, but then it returned, even heavier.
She could not bear to look at him, could not stand the thought of his touch. He was married. Married! Husband and father. All the regret in the world would not erase the fact that this burden was of his own doing—and her undoing.
Hadn’t Mrs. Franklin counseled her to write first? Hadn’t Mrs. Cunningham and Elizabeth O’Malley warned she might not find the same man who’d left Nantucket twenty-six months ago? She had heeded none of it, clinging instead to what had proven to be a flimsy pledge. He had betrayed her.
The honor he had touted in Nantucket had proven weak in Key West. Like so many others, he had fallen prey to temptation. That woman—his wife—was pretty, in a cheap, tawdry way. How could he?
She curled in upon herself, head low as if walking into a gale. She had risked everything to join her love, and he had abandoned her for that . . . that woman. The sobs came faster and would not stop. She saw no one, heard nothing but the anger thundering in her ears.
She had lost everything.
A sob wrung out of her with terrible violence. Her arm ached from the weight of her bag. Her legs could not support her much longer. If she did not find someplace to rest, she would faint dead away in the street. She stumbled forward, vision blurred by tears. After swiping them away, she spotted a picket fence around a park-like lawn. Using the fence as support, she walked along it until she found an open gate and could enter. She collapsed onto the lawn, not caring who saw her.
David, oh David. Why?
The question repeated without an answer.
She allowed the tears to flow, hoping they would wash away the worst of the pain. Death she could face, but not betrayal. Not by the man she loved and trusted.
She pressed a sleeve against her eyes. What had she done? What could she do?
Carry on, Ma would have said. Sometimes that’s all you can do. Shoulder the burden and carry on.
Until now, Prosperity had never realized how difficult it would be to follow that advice. Losing Pa had hurt, but they all knew the danger of the sea. It hung over every whaling trip like a black cloud. This was different. She had had no warning.
So she sat on the lawn staring numbly at the blades of grass, seeing nothing but that moment at the army post. He had been shocked at first and then had grown upset, calling after her with increasing urgency. Did he regret his actions? It no longer mattered, for what had been wrought could not be undone.
Eventually she spent the last hot tear, and her head cleared enough to remember Ma’s counsel that the Lord didn’t promise a life without suffering. Best thing to do was to turn hardship upside down by counting blessings. Digging a handkerchief from her bag, she blotted her eyes and tried to follow her mother’s advice. She thanked God for good health and safe passage. Though her funds were low, God had blessed her with new friends who’d given her a place to stay. Over the years she had learned many skills that would help her find a paying position.
That’s what she would do. She could cook, clean, or scale a fish. Someone here must need help.
She squared her shoulders. Tearful regrets would get her nowhere. God cared for the sparrow and the lily. He would help her find the job she needed.
“Miss Jones?”
Prosperity looked up to see Dr. Goodenow approaching. “Doctor?”
For the first time she looked at her surroundings. Before her stood a lovely two-story building with a long staircase leading to the entrance. Palm trees dotted the grounds, and brilliant red and pink flowers added to the cheerful appearance.
“Are you well?” the doctor asked.
Prosperity smoothed her skirts and offered a shaky smile. “Quite well, thank you. I got a bit lost, however. Is this the hospital?”
“Why, yes, it is.”
His generous smile sparked an idea. God did indeed provide seed for the sparrow, but the sparrow still must gather it if he wished to eat.
“Might I inquire if there are any positions available?”
His eyebrows rose. “Dr. MacNees mentioned that one of the housekeepers left yesterday.”
Prosperity gave silent thanksgiving. “May I apply for the position?”
The doctor’s lips lifted ever so slightly. “Let me take you to the matron.”
“Oh no, Doctor. I would not wish to take you from your patients. Just direct me, and I shall find her.”
He chuckled. “Your concern for the patients is a mark in your favor.” He then directed her to a Miss Stern, who proved as formidable as her name.
The stout, graying spinster grilled Prosperity on her background and abilities. She showed her the washhouse and which rooms in the hospital must be kept spotless. Then, while peering intently at Prosperity, she took a metal tray containing bloody bandages from an orderly.
“You would be responsible for laundering these as well as the bed linens.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman grunted. “They must be boiled with the correct soaps. Gracie will show you the proper method. Some will be worse than this.”
“I’ve changed many a bandage, ma’am, when my father got gaffed or cu
t open on his whaling vessel. And my mother—” Prosperity swallowed at the memory of her mother’s distress over soiled bedsheets. “She was ill a long time.”
Miss Stern gave no indication that impressed her. “Seamen are brought here with all manner of disease. Yellow fever, cholera, even smallpox.” She paused, probably waiting for Prosperity to flinch.
She did not.
The matron grunted again. “As a newcomer, you are more susceptible, especially to yellow fever. If that concerns you, this is not the place for you.”
“I’m not concerned. I nursed my mother for many years.”
“Humph.”
Though the woman seemed reluctant to hire her, she led Prosperity to her office. The tiny room was lined with supplies. The matron stood behind a small desk and jiggled the keys attached to her belt. “You would also attend to the dead, Miss Jones.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Miss Stern peered at her more intently. “You’re not afraid?”
“The dead can’t hurt us, ma’am.” The living can.
At last Miss Stern gave her a modicum of grudging respect. “I suppose you might do. But Dr. MacNees makes the final decision. Return tomorrow after the noon hour, and I will give you his decision.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Prosperity gathered her bag and left Miss Stern’s office.
Her heels clattered on the polished floors and down the many steps to the manicured grounds. Despite Miss Stern’s unyielding countenance, Prosperity felt confident she would get the position.
David or no David, she would make a new life in Key West.
At the end of the busy workday, David sat alone in the cramped field office and tried to concentrate on the engineering drawings. One leaking cistern had turned into two. Their first attempts to shore it up had failed. Instead of making progress, the project was backtracking. He had to find a solution.
On top of that, the fuss over the lack of iron spikes refused to die. The smith insisted he’d made plenty. The men in charge of the stores insisted they had received only what they currently had. Someone was lying, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to determine who. The discrepancy was small, but the loss would set them behind until more iron stock arrived.
Through it all he couldn’t get Prosperity from his mind. All day his thoughts wandered back to her, to her shock and distress, to the way she’d run from him.
She must not have received his letter. She couldn’t have. If she was in Key West now, she must have left weeks ago. The ship bearing his letter would have passed hers as she sailed south. She hadn’t undertaken such a dangerous voyage in response to his actions. She had stepped away from the security of home to join him.
That made his actions sting worse. Oh, the calamity one heedless night could bring! He could accept the burden, but the consequences should not fall on Prosperity. She had already suffered the loss of both parents. Mourning black signaled her mother’s passing. She deserved the life he had promised her. Instead he had heaped pain on top of her sorrow.
He dug his fingers into his hair and tugged. Oh, that he could take the pain from her. If only he could turn back the clock, but that was not possible. Their lives, once intertwined, now sped in opposite directions. But he could not simply walk away. What could he do?
The lines of the drawings blurred. A clock ticked. The wind puffed against the insubstantial walls of his office. In the distance, the workers guffawed over some joke. Waves struck the shore, ushering in an intense longing for the simplicity of boyhood and home.
Home.
He leapt to his feet. That’s what he could do for Prosperity. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough.
While the thoughts tumbled around in his head, he rolled up his drawings. Prosperity’s family had suffered a huge financial blow after her father died. John Jones had left no will or inheritance. The whaling gear that hadn’t gone down with his ship was sold. Prosperity took in laundry, since that allowed her to stay home to nurse her ailing mother. Piece by piece their furnishings had disappeared. Though he’d offered to help, she’d refused to accept a single penny. Prosperity could not have much left after burying her mother. She had turned to him as her last hope.
If it took all he had, he would send her home.
“No room,” the woman at the boardinghouse stated. “Even if I did have a room, I wouldn’t take in a lady like yourself.”
“I’m a simple working woman.” Prosperity had already assessed the lodging in the small town, and this boardinghouse appeared by far the best. “If you will not lease me a room, could you at least tell me which would be a good, Christian establishment?”
The woman shook her head, which was topped with a white cotton cap with gray curls peeking out. “A boardinghouse is no place for an unmarried woman.”
Prosperity was at her wit’s end. After learning that the inn was far too costly, she had walked around and around the town, rejecting every boardinghouse that had a seedy appearance. This one looked clean and well kept. “But I need someplace to stay, and yours is the finest in town.”
The compliment drew a smile, but the woman stood firm. “I have a lot of sailors staying here. Wouldn’t be right taking you in. You might try finding a room in a private residence. Last I heard, Captain O’Malley’s looking for a boarder.”
Prosperity lifted an eyebrow. Captain O’Malley, eh? Interesting that this woman not only knew the man but claimed to know he wanted a boarder—a fact that neither he nor his wife had mentioned yesterday. “Is he now? Their home seems rather small.”
“I wouldn’t know nothing about that, but he’s offering a good rate, better’n you can get at the worst boardinghouse. A fair sight better’n I’d give you.”
No doubt the O’Malleys had passed this notion to the boardinghouse proprietress out of kindness, but it still raised her dander. She did not need charity. “Your rooms aren’t full, are they?”
“Like I told you, I got a fair many sailors staying here. You’d be safer with the O’Malleys. Take my advice, Miss Jones, and find yourself a room in a nice, Christian home. I wouldn’t want you to come to any harm.”
Prosperity gripped the handle of her bag, more than a little unnerved. Key West was not Nantucket. Not at all. “I won’t keep you any longer, then.” She backed away.
“The captain and his wife are good Christian folk,” the proprietress called out. “You’ll be right welcome there.”
Prosperity faced the street, having lost her first choice. Before her, people and carts and horses passed in a jumble of noise and dust. She clung to the fence post to steady herself. The remaining options were unpalatable. She could let a room in a miserable and unsafe boardinghouse, beg the Cunninghams for a room, or humble herself before the woman who had already invited her.
Never be too proud to accept kindness, Ma had counseled. In gracious receiving you bless the giver.
Prosperity swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.
Yes, the O’Malleys would welcome her, but they would either refuse payment or charge a pittance. Accepting charity stung. How had she sunk so low? Tears burned in her eyes, and she bit her lip to quell them. A Jones bore hardship without complaint.
She would approach the O’Malleys but would only agree to stay if they would accept full and reasonable payment. Once she was offered the position at the hospital, or rather if she was, she could more easily afford a weekly rent, as well as save for . . .
What was she saving for?
The question hit with the force of a huge wave. Her entire future had been washed away. She had nowhere to go. No fiancé. No family. She dropped her bag with a thud and clung to the fence, breathing deeply until her head stopped spinning.
“Miss Jones?”
The familiar voice sent starch to her knees. “Dr. Goodenow.” She affixed as much of a smile as she could manage. “It seems we are always running into each other.”
“Indeed we are.” He returned the smile with a great deal of warmth.
Prosperity couldn’t help but notice that his frock coat was now rumpled, as if it had been casually tossed in a corner while he worked. Yet the top hat bore not a speck of dust. Formal and yet not. The contrast fit his manner quite well. Her feeble smile faltered.
Beneath the brim, his expression tightened. “Are you unwell? This climate can be difficult for those unaccustomed to it.”
“The air is rather heavy.”
“A common reaction.” The inviting smile returned. “You need a cup of tea.”
“No, I don’t—”
“Ah.” He held up a hand. “I will brook no dissent. Consider it an order, if you will.” He stroked the graying sideburns that trailed down his jaw. “Ah yes, perfect.” He bowed with an elegant sweep of his hand. “Miss Jones, would you care to join me at the home of one of my dear friends? She is always eager to learn what is happening at the hospital and will welcome the companionship of another lady.” Without waiting for her reply, he picked up her bag and extended his arm.
Prosperity blinked, quite unaccustomed to having a man take the lead. It had been more than two years since David left. Pa had been gone six. Prosperity had learned to seek her own guidance. How strange to once again accept that of a man, and not just a man but a comparative stranger who was carrying her bag and taking her to tea with someone she did not know.
“Your friend . . . is she married?”
“Indeed she is.” He chuckled. “You need not fear propriety. She often has many at her tea table.”
Prosperity accepted his arm, and they strolled away from the harbor. Who could this woman be? Her former shipmate came to mind. “Do you know Mrs. Cunningham?”
“Naturally. One cannot help but know her.”
Prosperity puzzled over what that might mean. The lady did express her opinions freely and dressed like a bastion of society.
“Will she be there?”
“I cannot say.” He slowed before an all-too-familiar house. “We are here. Mrs. O’Malley will be delighted to meet you.”
Honor Redeemed Page 6
